


Accompaniment: Absolution

by drakonlily



Series: Fighting For a Chance [3]
Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-29
Updated: 2009-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-03 23:48:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drakonlily/pseuds/drakonlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reeve and Scarlet require some Absolution</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accompaniment: Absolution

**Author's Note:**

> Written before the events of the compilation, Reeve's name is therefore wrong.

Absolution

"Oh, just one more time." The woman begged, tugging at his hips.

A shudder coursed down his spine at her touch, he pushed off the bed. The illusion was over; he had done his job, been her distraction and bugged the house as he was ordered. He was not ordered to be her damn bed slave. Sliding off the bed he pulled up his boxers and pants, wincing at a pain in his leg. "I have better things to do." He hissed.

The woman blinked, pulling the sheet to cover her breasts. "Better than what?" Her tone matched his.

"Than fuck you." The man snapped, turning to go. As he passed the door frame he heard the woman recover. A vase hit the wall, along with a trail of cursing.

Reeve pinched his nose, laughing at the picked up habit. He then lit a cigarette and took a hard pull of the paper. Looking up at the building he had just came from he snorted in disgust. There was a time, years ago when he would have just counted his gil and been on his way, feeling empty, but not disgusted.

Being just a whore was different then being what he was. The money was better, but, the price of the job? Far from worth it. This was disgusting. Using people- all be them bad people- for gains of people no better or worse. Most would just call it evens, but to Reeve, it was becoming less and less something he could do.

His apartment back at the ShinRa building felt cold, even when he turned the heat up, the shower he took failed to do anything but wash the heady sent of woman off of his skin, remove the lipstick from his stomach and neck. Toweling off he put street clothing back on, he couldn't just sit at home, alone, being haunted by things he couldn't help.

The elevator smelled like Reeve had upon his entrance, yet another thing to disgust the Turk today. He didn't bother with his car, he wanted to walk. Stretching his leg beforehand- not that it would help- he started walking.

He knew where he was going, even if he hadn't thought about it.

The cemetery.

The church was small, there was no place to bury the dead in the earth, so there were walls of tombs, all the same, none with room for flowers, some without the room for the person's name. As sad as it all seemed, it was better then what happened to people who died in the slums. There was no markation at all on the incinerator near the small hospital for the slums- it was a stretch to call the building such a thing.

He stopped at the V's, grunting as he took his knees. Yet another long name. "VVValentine". The closet thing he ever had to a father, the closet thing he had to a teacher. Sometimes Reeve wished to trade places with the man. Vincent had a family, before ShinRa took that from him. Years of loyal service, all taken because of one small slight. He peered closer to the name-plate, someone had been here before him. Tonight it seemed. The dust was smudged as though someone had traced the name with a fingertip.

Reeve stood, looking around quickly. There was only one other person who would come to this grave. His hand touched his death penalty, but he never spoke. Emerson Reeve turned from the crypt and moved to the church. The door was open, but the priest wouldn't be here now. Knowing a priest personally, Reeve never felt comfortable around them.

"Well, I don't know if I'm surprised or not to see you here." The voice came from his left, a shadowy area near a pillar.

Once again his gun was brushed by his hand. In the same instant his instinct pushed him, his knowledge stopped it. He looked up at the cross, polished gold leaf, standing out as a beacon amidst the cherry pews. Without looking at the speaker, Reeve sighed. "As surprised as I am at myself I suppose. You came to see him too I take it?"

Movement, and then the speaker came forward. In the dim light, fine details of a down turned mouth and worn eyes drew his attention. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest, her weight resting on one hip casually. "Sometimes I feel like he's still alive, and I have to come down here to convince myself I'm not just wishing." She bit her lip. "Doesn't it seem like things were different when he was around?"

Reeve gritted his teeth, Vincent would have never allowed either he or Scarlet to become the whores they had in the aftermath of his death. Even with a wife and a child, he never would have just let things like Reeve's night happen. Not without a fight. But with him, went their fight. Reeve was no hero, he wasn't an expressly brave man, he would be the first to admit, he was afraid not to do what he was told. "They were Scarlet, very different." He fidgeted. It was as if he could still smell that woman, her sent ran through his hair, down his chest and centered again inside his pants line.

"Em?" She never called him Reeve, of all the people in ShinRa, she seemed to be the only one who remembered his name. "Why did you come out here tonight?"

His hand gripped the pew, for lack of something to do. "Do you ever just feel… dirty?"

She looked away, eyes narrowing, not seeing him. "All the time." She made no other movement, but her knuckles were suddenly a little whiter, her stance a little stiffer. "Me, too." She shifted, drawing his eyes back to her form. Tonight, she wore a finely-tailored black suit, one that had been 'recommended' to her by the President. The closely-fitted jacket revealed a hint of black lace beneath it whenever she moved. He remembered when her uniform had started to change; from the cut of the normal Turk suit into more and more revealing things until she was taken out of the program entirely. Now it was hardly uncommon to see her walking the halls of the tower, dressed in things more appropriate for a cocktail party or even a bedroom. What she wore now was perhaps her least-risqué clothing.

But she kept her mouth shut. Valentine's disappearance and death had been an outright warning to the remaining Turks: keep your heads down, obey orders, or else. With Hojo and his sick team of mad scientists being backed up by ShinRa's official word, no one dared test the edge of the envelope.

She finally looked at him, noticing his study of her. "I had to get out, Em. I keep thinking...I'm going to wake up. And I never do."

The sudden urge to find the President and shove his death penalty down the man's throat until the clip was empty hit him. But that would just leave the man's emotionless and broken child in control. He looked back to her, the light shining off her as she stood by the confessional. What he did next, maybe he needed release, maybe he was sad, but he needed her.

He felt the rough wood of the confessional smack loudly beneath his calloused hands, her mouth tasted like alcohol and smoke. He needed it, pressing her more in between himself and the confessional booth.

She barely hesitated, hands already gripping the collar of his jacket and fiercely pulling him closer. One of her legs traveled up to his hip, her knee resting against him, drawing his hand from the booth to feel her skin from under the thin fabric. Her mouth opened to his, a pleading noise found its way out in between them.

He forgot the woman's bed he was in less then an hour or so before, he didn't care whose bed she had been in at that time. All that mattered to him was that he had her now, and he KNEW her, he knew her name, he knew Scarlet, the woman that cried when her cat died, the woman that liked to have cookies and milk and read, the woman that hadn't wanted to hurt a soul.

That was the woman in his arms, not that made up whore ShinRa made her pretend she was. His jacket fell to the floor; his shirt came out from where it had been tucked. Her hands felt through his hair. When his mouth left hers to travel to her neck she arched against him. "Oh god, Em…"

Was she the only person who knew his name? It didn't matter; she was the person that he WANTED to know him. That was all.

Her clothing met his on the floor of the church, the bra and underwear designed to put her on show was taken down. Again her back felt the booth, one hand kept his balance while the other crushed her to him, holding her waist tightly, not willing to let her go.

Dirty, feeling, pawing, sweating, he didn't care who would have walked in or who would have seen them. Two whores in a church; it was the most beautiful feeling in the planet. It was real, not put up, not for show, not forced or ordered.

For the first time in a long time, he remembered Emerson Reeve, not Reeve the Turk.

Gasping for breath, they relaxed, sinking to their clothing on the floor. She curled against him, one leg on his lap and her head on his shoulder. "Em, I-" Then a new moisture joined the sweat on his skin. "I'm so sorry…"

"What do you have to be sorry about?"

"That I can't be with you, that you can't be with me….God's I wish I wasn't such a-"

His hand lingered on her face; she didn't need him to tell her she was beautiful on the outside. She knew that much. "Scarlet, I love you. I don't care what you are or what I am."

She smiled, pulling him closer. "I don't know what I would do without you Em."

"Let's just not worry about things like that?"

Fin

©drakonlily 2004

* * *

A/N: This oneshot goes along with my Fighting for a Chance stories. Just some time with Reeve and Scarlet, because they needed it. 


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